


So Warm and True

by threeplusfire



Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Cookies, M/M, Multi, UMY Secret Santa, Urban Magic Yogs, Winter Time, winter comfort fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 15:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5544371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeplusfire/pseuds/threeplusfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I want to get a tree.”<br/>“A tree?”<br/>“A Christmas tree.”<br/>“Really?” asked Smith. He squinted at Ross, eyebrows drawn together. </p><p>Winter comforts - Christmas trees, cookies, watching movies, hot showers. How the Garbage Court spends a winter day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Warm and True

**Author's Note:**

> My UMY Secret Santa gift for limelasers - happy holidays friend. I hope this is the fluff you were looking for, with a bonus slice of feelings right in the middle.
> 
> The song Sips is humming is "Waiting for a girl like you" by Foreigner.

“There’s something I want to do,” Ross said, his expression unexpectedly serious. Smith looked up from where he sprawled out on the sofa, watching television. There was a special on the north, and Smith was watching for glimpses of less than ordinary animals. He wanted to ask Trott about them all.

“What’s that?” Smith yawned.

“I want to get a tree.”

“A tree?”

“A Christmas tree.”

“Really?” asked Smith. He squinted at Ross, eyebrows drawn together. 

“Yes, really.” Ross stood with his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, tail swishing back and forth. Smith studied him for another long moment before setting his feet on the floor.

“Sure. Why not?”

Ross smiled, delighted. Smith felt a bright, shining pain somewhere in his chest and told himself that it was indigestion. 

“So, tree.” He grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair. “Do we have to go cut one down ourselves?“

“There’s a lot selling trees over at 45th,” said Ross. “I think there’s a whole Christmas market actually.”

“Buying trees,” Smith snorted. “Bet the dryads love that.” Life in the city was always so absurd.

 

\-----

 

Ross promised if Smith would help him bring home a tree, they could go to the Christmas market first to get snacks. Lights criss crossed the street, all the way down the block. Little stands, much like the farmers market, filled the street selling gifts and food.

The cold ached, seeping in at the cuffs of his jacket and at his neck. Smith half heartedly wished he’d put on a scarf perhaps, or maybe gloves. Ross wore the heavy wool coat Sips found for him, a brightly patterned scarf tucked around his neck. Not that Ross ever really seemed bothered by the cold. Maybe if he whined, Ross would take it off and loop it around Smith’s neck instead.

They sat on a park bench, near the cluster of food trucks. Christmas lights blinked and twinkled, and there were lots of people about. Smith leaned into Ross’ side, eating from the giant paper cone of kimchi fries. He chewed with his eyes closed, enjoying the spicy, salty mess of kimchi, cheese, and potato. 

Ross cupped his hot chocolate in both hands, trying to drink from it without getting whipped cream or melted marshmallow on his nose. He curled his tail around Smith’s waist, watching the crowds of people shopping and eating and laughing. A group of children raced past, shrieking. It was quite cold, but there wasn’t any snow yet. The cloudy day left few shadows, and it was already getting dark. 

“Trott says you’re going to get fat if you keep eating like that,” Ross teased.

“Supposed to get fat in the winter,” Smith muttered, mouth full of fries. “Got to stay warm.”

Ross smiled and slurped at the hot chocolate. 

“Should I get us a car?” asked Smith. 

“No, I can carry the tree.” Ross shook his head. Probably better not to steal anything from around here. He knew Smith wouldn’t care, but he’d rather not take something from any of the people enjoying the afternoon. 

“Putting trees inside houses,” Smith muttered, sounding half horrified and half amused. “Who thought that was a good idea?”

“Say you picked up a tree that was a dryad,” Ross mused. “Does that count as an invitation over the threshold?”

“Dunno.” Smith shrugged, throwing away the empty paper cone. “We should ask Trott about that.”

“Well come on, let’s go find a tree that’s not carrying any extra guests.” Ross stood, tugging Smith along through the crowd.

“It’s cold,” Smith groused half heartedly. Ross eyed him for a moment, and pulled off his scarf. He gently wrapped it around Smith’s neck once, twice, and tucked the ends into his leather jacket. Smith felt that pain in his chest again, and thought maybe he should eat less salt. 

  
  
\-----  
  


Trott stood inside the door, breathing in the scent of fir. He toed off his shoes, and set his bag down. There were little green needles scattered along the carpet from the front door all the way into the living room.

“Why is there a tree in here?” he asked finally, walking around the sofa.

“It’s a Christmas tree,” Ross answered cheerfully. He held the tree upright with one hand, and it was taller even than Ross. He straightened one of the wide green branches, shaking loose more needles. On the floor, Smith laid with his head and shoulders under the tree. He cursed repeatedly as he tried to tighten the tree stand at the base.

“Smith’s helping me set it up.” Ross beamed, looking quite pleased, even as Smith continued to swear.

“Alright then,” Trott said, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice. He scratched the back of his calf with one foot. “You know you can’t see the television with the tree in the middle of the room.”

“Oh.” Ross frowned. “I’ll move it, hang on.” He lifted the tree. Smith wiggled backwards.

“Watch it, Ross!” 

“Sorry!” Ross shuffled sideways a few feet. “This better?”

Flopping onto the sofa, Trott twisted experimentally from side to side. He glanced at Smith, gracelessly sprawled on his stomach.

“A little further to the left.” 

“Here?”

“No, my left. Other way.”

Ross took a step sideways, and Smith cursed a volley of furious words as a branch knocked into his head. Trott’s lips twitched towards a smile, understanding enough of the kelpie dialect to know just which of Trott’s ancestors he was cursing.

 

\-----

 

The front door slammed shut. Ross glanced over his shoulder as Sips wandered in, humming the song he’d been singing all week long. Every time Ross asked him if it was a Christmas carol, Sips just laughed.  

“Hey, Christmas tree.” Sips grinned. “Nice.”

“I thought we should have one.” Ross sat on the floor, untangling a string of Christmas lights. 

“Good idea.” Sips bent down to kiss the top of Ross’ head. He smelled of the cold air and cigarette smoke.

“I might make some cookies later, I told Smith I would.”

“Where is pony boy, anyways?”

“In the shower.” The barest hint of a smile crossed Ross’ face. “He was all covered in tree sap, and Trott said-”

“I can imagine what Trott said,” interrupted Sips, laughing. 

“They’ll be back when they run out of hot water.”

 

\-----

 

Smith knelt in the shower, eyes closed against the spray. Trott’s fingers massaged his scalp, working the shampoo into a later. Warm water drenched him, running over his face and down his back as Trott rinsed his hair. Recently Sips found a shampoo called Mane & Tail, and of course he had to bring it home. Smith would have thrown it out, but it actually did seem better than the stuff they’d had before. 

“Give me your hand, sunshine.” 

“Mmm.” Smith leaned his face into Trott’s hip.

“Ross seems happy with his tree.” Trott carefully cleaned the sap from Smith’s hand, scrubbing gently with a wash cloth. The soap smelled of lemon and mint, bright and clean.

“Couldn’t send him out alone, might have come home with something weird,” Smith mumbled. 

Trott chuckled, and held Smith close. The tiled floor dug into his knees, but Smith didn’t mind. The warm, slick feeling of Trott pressed into him and the pleasure of a hot shower more than made up for it. Smith clung to him, blood warm and content. Trott’s fingers kneaded the back of his neck and his shoulders, until Smith was drowsy. He kissed Trott’s stomach, tasting the water and the fainter taste of skin.

“You can get up now,” Trott said quietly. He helped Smith stand, hands clasped tight. Back on his feet, Smith pulled Trott into his arms. He shifted his feet, trying to find a way to stand with as much of Trott touching him as possible. Smith wanted to flood the bathroom. Not to drown, but just so they could float together, entwined and surrounded by water. If the weather wasn’t so dreadful, he’d suggest they go down to the river. But this was nicer, warm and quiet and private. Trott’s fingers played with Smith’s wet hair, and pulled him down for a slow kiss. 

  
\-----  
  


The kitchen smelled of vanilla, and baking cookies. The long counter was a mess of flour, sugar and bits of cookie dough. Sips licked his fingers while Ross carefully pulled a baking sheet out of the oven. It was unsettling to watch him do that barehanded. Sips made a mental note to buy Ross some oven mitts just for his own peace of mind.

“Sips,” Ross said quietly as he moved the cookies to the plate. “Do you want to go home for Christmas?”

Sips blinked once, but his expression didn’t change. He finished wiping his fingers clean on the dish towel. 

“I am home, Ross.”

“I know that.” Ross grimaced. “I meant, to the home where you came from. Where all this comes from?” He gestured at the plates full of cookies he’d made. Each one was something he’d recreated from Sips’ reminisces, and careful reading of a couple cookbooks. 

“I’ve never been to Poland, actually.”

“Thats- you know what I meant.” Ross sounded exasperated, and the tip of his tail smacked into the stove with a clang. 

“Ross,” Sips said, after a moment of tense silence. “Come here.”

Reluctantly, Ross stepped closer to Sips. He dropped the spatula in the sink. Sips leaned against him, feeling the coolness of the marble through Ross’ tshirt. Ross’ tail twined gently around his calf.

“Sometimes, you go so far from the start there isn’t any going back,” Sips said finally. “You know that. Your church is gone. No going back.”

“Is your family gone, then?” Ross pressed his chin to the tip of Sips’ head.

“No, but they’re better off without me there.”

“Why?”

“Because I did some dumb stuff when I was younger, didn’t think about the consequences.” Sips sounded older, more tired than Ross had ever heard him. “Because it is safer for them if I’m not there. That was the deal.”

“But with us, we could help, right?” Ross wondered aloud. 

“I’m sure you’d scare the hell out of Markus Czerny,” Sips chuckled. “If he’s even still around. But no. I appreciate it Ross, but no.” 

“Sips…” Ross began.

“This is where I am now,” Sips said. He lifted his head to look Ross in the eyes. “That is just it. So come on, let’s make some more cookies and then go find those two water monsters, okay?”

Ross nodded, questions still unasked. Sips picked up one of the vanilla crescents and bit into it. 

“Here, eat this.” He fed Ross a cookie, smiling at the pleased sound Ross made. “Pretty good, eh? You’re getting to be a hell of a cook, almost as good as my mom.”

“Must be all that church time,” Ross said, deadpan. Sips snorted, and brushed powdered sugar off Ross’ face.

 

\-----

 

Smith and Trott were curled together on the sofa. Trott’s damp hair stuck to the back of his neck, skin still pink from the heat of the bath. He wore one of Smith’s old shirts, and a pair of pajama pants. 

“Cookies?” asked Ross, carrying a plate. He settled down on the floor in front of them.

“Aw shit, my favorite Christmas movie is on.” Sips put his feet up on the coffee table and cranked up the volume. 

_“Die Hard?”_ Smith scoffed.

“It is considered one of the finest Christmas films in existence,” Sips said in a very serious tone. Smith stared at him, eyes narrowed as he tried to determine if Sips was joking or not.

“Do you want anything?” Ross asked. He put the plate on the coffee table, well away from Sips’ feet in his ridiculous candy cane socks. It was piled high with vanilla crescents, butter cookies sandwiched together with jam, and gingerbread hearts.

“I’m good, sunshine.” Trott stroked his face, fingers tapping the points of Ross’ horns. He pulled Ross closer so he could rest his head on Trott’s lap. Ross sighed with contentment. He stretched his tail to curl round Sips’ leg.

“Stop kicking me, Smiffy.” Sips gave him a disdainful look.

“I’m not!”

“I can feel your feet there!”

“I’m just trying to keep warm,” Smith grumbled, shifting where he stretched out behind Trott. Sips rolled his eyes, and settled himself more comfortably on the sofa. Trott hushed them, half watching the movie and half watching Ross. The only lights in the room came from the television and the colored lights wrapped around the tree. Ross’ tail reflected the little colorful lights, starbursts of red and green and gold. Trott ran his fingers through Ross’ hair, studying him. Ross was staring at the tree, clearly far away in his own thoughts. 

“It’s a nice tree, sunshine,” Trott said.

“Yeah,” Ross agreed. His voice was so soft it barely carried over the sound of the television. Trott wondered what he was thinking about or remembering. The colored lights played over his face, making Trott think of the stained glass of church windows. 

Smith shifted and bumped into him, nuzzling his face into the crook of Trott’s neck. With a long suffering sigh, Trott wriggled an arm around Smith too. He tried to pet the both of them at the same time. Sips caught his gaze, offering him a smile and an eye roll. Trott shook his head with a grin. They were all nuisances, but they were his. They were his, and they were here, curled up in the warmth of home together. Not a bad way to spend a winter night, he thought.


End file.
